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Oct 2014
These fingertips will never run through your hair the same way they did 192 nights ago. These olive eyes may never shine quite so bright. Snowflakes wish to rest on your eye lashes just to say hello and ask how your day is going. Stars shoot across the sky to show off their glow. They are not egotistical but they envy the way your smile radiates any room you walk into. The freckle on my left wrist matches the freckle on your right and I think when we held hands, they snuck kisses when we weren’t looking. I guess they learned from us. There’s love I want to give, not because it’s too difficult to hold onto but because I think you could use some love. The right kind of love that fills the room like apple pie on Thanksgiving. The kind that makes even the smallest amounts of distances seem like the other is a continent away. If people were continents, though, I’d be Antarctica and you’d be North America. I want to hold you like moon dust that I promised not to touch. Or maybe I’ll hold you like a star because though you’d burn a hole through my hand, you’d still always be enough for me. 192 nights ago, I looked at you like a broken promise might look at the naive victim. 192 nights have passed like everyone of those shooting stars the nights before I met you. I wished to be happy and they brought you. I was so caught up in your eyes, I guess I forgot to thank them. 192 nights have passed since I last ran my fingertips through your hair and 192 more will pass before I may even look at you like anything other than a mumbled goodbye mixed with unworthy forgiveness. 192 nights have passed and if you weren’t forced to see me everyday, you’d already have forgotten my name.
Written by
naivemoon  Maine
   Liana Thompson and ellie
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